


Devotion, Doubt, and Domesticity

by orphan_account



Category: Bleach
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Community: bleach_exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-14
Updated: 2006-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Completely AU setting. A chance meeting aboard a luxury steamship leads to possibilities for two lonely travellers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotion, Doubt, and Domesticity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaiserkuchen](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kaiserkuchen).



> The request was any Ishida pairing, "AU! Fantastic scenario a la shanghai in the '30's! Posh happenings on a cruise ship! Tropical island paradise shenanigans etc."
> 
> I'm not personally a fan of Ishida so your requests were lolariously difficult for me. I tried every one of your requests in some fashion but eventually found that the only way I could decently write Ishida was if I just made up a totally weird, unrealistic situation. And since you seem to like the idea of dork love I went with a character you didn't mention yourself but is somewhat of a dork nonetheless: Hanatarou. For the setting, I went with an expensive steamship--think something Titanic'esque. And I'm sorry if I failed utterly at writing Ishida. ;___; I tried~!

**Day 3 of 7**

**3:48 PM**

 

Rummaging through his basket of scrap fabrics and sewing supplies, Ishida frantically searched for his spool of fine crimson thread, but to no avail; it was nowhere to be found. With a huff, he set down the basket and trotted about the cabin in search of the spool, but he innately knew that if it was not in the basket, it must have disappeared. He tended to be obsessive-compulsive about keeping his sewing materials in order, and a loose spool laying about the cabin would be akin to blasphemy in his eyes.

_All right, I suppose I will just have to buy myself new crimson thread when we dock, then._ He sighed to himself, not terribly thrilled about the prospect of having to lay down this particular sewing project for the remainder of the voyage.

Taking a gander at his other projects, he tried to find one to keep him occupied but came to the acute realization that he could no longer focus well now that he had had to stop and start something else. His concentration had been broken.

...But on a seven-day voyage across the ocean to America, what  _else_ was a young man traveling alone to do? Traveling first-class certainly had its perks, but he was tired of dining with the elder gentlemen and feigning interest in their endless banter concerning politics and high society. In a word, he was  _surfeited_ with it all. He had had more than enough.

Sighing profusely, Ishida finally decided that little was left him save to go on deck. As he pulled on his white mantle over his finely-tailored suit, he mused that perhaps a breath of fresh air would do him good, and once he'd cleared his head, maybe he'd be able to attend to his sewing with renewed effort and concentration.

Seconds later, he had closed and locked his cabin door and began to make his way to the deck of the steamship.

 

~~~

 

**Day 3 of 7**

**4:02 PM**

 

_...Right. So. What now?_

Ishida fervently rubbed his hands together as he stood upon the top deck of the ship gazing out at the ocean, all the while chastising himself for not remembering to bring his gloves. The actual air temperature outside was not unendurable, but the gales of icy polar wind bit into one's skin like a torrent of sharp knives, and Ishida found himself restlessly pacing about in an effort to keep warm.

Soon enough, however, he decided that there really was no use in denying that the cold bothered him and insisting on staying on deck in order to pretend to bear the weather like a man. With his index and middle fingers, he pushed his silver-rimmed spectacles back up the steep slope of his nose and surreptitiously slipped into one of the windowed observation rooms when he felt that no one was looking.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Ishida ascertained that he was alone in the room and then breathed a sigh of relief, unceremoniously depositing himself on the floor and rubbing his arms in order to bring feeling back to his numb limbs.

He became so engrossed in this task that he did not notice the shuffling sounds that warned that another was present in the observation room until he suddenly heard the whimper, “Annou~ please, sir, your nice mantle will get dirty if you continue to sit on the floor so...”

When Ishida turned and looked up, he came face-to-face with a young teenage boy whose large dark eyes shone bright yet emitted a despondent aura, reminiscent of a little dog. His thin and greasy dark brown hair barely reached the level of his shoulders, and it appeared as though it was brushed only perfunctorily every few days. His brown, coarse corduroy knee-breeches, tall white stockings, leather shoes that had begun to fade from black to brown, thin faux velvet jacket over a cheap white button-up shirt, and newsboy cap indicated that he was most likely on board as a servant. However, since he was in the first-class section, it was just as probable that he was at the very least in the service of someone of affluent wealth and high status.

As Ishida did not immediately respond and only peered at him over the rims of his glasses, tiny beads of sweat formed on the boy's face as he took the other's arm and lightly shook it, murmuring, “Please, sir, it's such an awful waste of a nice mantle~” Then, when he suddenly became aware of his own audacity in grabbing the obviously superior-ranked young man's limb, he dropped it just as quickly and took a step back, hands rising to cover his face as he bowed and groveled and muttered all sorts of apologies.

Ishida, frankly, hadn't even thought about the implications of a servant grabbing his arm, his eye fixated on the way the boy's jacket literally seemed to be coming apart at the seams. _With a little bit of thread, I could ..._ but he caught himself when the boy's whimpering brought his focus back to the situation at hand.

“...What are you doing?” Ishida asked when the boy bent at the waist for the upteenth time. 

“G-gomen, gomen!” the boy stuttered, still continuing to bow. “Gomen nasai~ I am so sorry for disturbing you! I... I will leave you now... Heh.. heh..”

Ishida still wasn't quite sure why the boy was acting so embarrassed, and he felt ready to descend into fits of discomfort himself if the boy didn't cease groveling so shamefully.

“Enough!” he finally exclaimed. “Stand up and face me.”

Hesitantly, the boy did as he was told, although he still slouched terribly when he was standing up. His eyes were directed at the floor as if afraid to meet Ishida's gaze.

The young man sighed, resigning himself to the fact that this was probably the best he was going to get. “What's your name, boy?”

The servant suddenly looked up, fear suffusing his eyes, suggesting that he feared why Ishida might be asking his name. “H-Hanatarou. Y-Yamada Hanatarou.”

Ishida nodded and introduced himself accordingly, all the while wondering what he was to do with this bouncing ball of nerves and insecurities. He had never been much of a people person, so comforting others was not exactly his expertise. But when Hanatarou remained across from him, tacit and literally shaking in his boots, Ishida soon realized that he did need to do _something_.

He sighed. It really wasn't his day.

Pushing his glasses back up again with one hand, he reached for his mantle and removed it with the other. Then, in one quick and fluid motion, he draped it around the boy's trembling shoulders, dusting off the back before removing his hands and taking a step back to admire this new look as though he were viewing a work of art on display.

Hanatarou's expression was stricken as he immediately reached for the mantle's clasp as though to remove it, but Ishida quickly reassured him and waved away his hands. “It _is_ an awfully nice mantle, isn't it?”

“Annou~ But sir...” Hanatarou was positively _blushing_ at the unusually kind gesture. “I can't wear this! You must take it back!”

Ishida straightened, reflecting all his family's pride in his bearing as though setting an example for the younger boy. “You can and you will. You will wear it until you personally come to my cabin, B-2405, to return it, so that I may then fix that ragged coat of yours.”

In order to prevent giving Hanatarou time to protest, Ishida nodded in farewell and then quickly exited the observation room through the same door in which he had entered. The cold blast of air that greeted him as he stepped out on the deck acutely reminded him of the sacrifice he had made.

_Damn, it's cold ..._ He found himself shivering as he descended the stairs to the cabin level. But when he remembered the endearing look of the boy's blushing face when he had all but forced the mantle upon him, he decided it was well worth it.

 

~~~

 

**Day 3 of 7**

**8:17 PM**

 

Ishida had been mending a hole in one of his socks when a knock at the door interrupted his labors. The day's previous events largely forgotten, he grumbled as he stood up and made his way to the cabin's entryway. He could not discern anything through the tiny peephole, so he cracked open the door an inch in order to determine who or what was on his doorstep.

It was Hanatarou, the boy from earlier, the white mantle freshly washed and draped gently over his two outstretched arms. He was smiling rather sheepishly.

Ishida pushed the door open the whole way, one hand reaching out to take the mantle and the other grabbing ahold of Hanatarou's wrist, quickly pulling the boy inside and shutting the door behind him.

“Anou~” Hanatarou whined, reaching up to scratch his head as his discomfort level rose by the minute.

The other man did not waste time; he hung up his mantle in the closet, and in seconds, he had removed the boy's jacket and was walking back to his comfortable armchair, beside which his sewing kit was still laid out. “I told you I wasn't going to let you leave until I had a chance to mend your jacket.”

Ishida abruptly turned his entire focus to the task at hand. Hanatarou shifted from foot to foot uneasily, but when it became obvious that the young dignitary was not going to pay him any attention while he was working, he resorted to doing the only thing he felt he was good at: making himself useful. Spotting Ishida's kitchenette, he brought hot water to a boil in order to prepare tea and set about to find the teacups.

When Ishida looked up again, Hanatarou had somehow succeeded in filching a broomstick and was busily sweeping the cabin's floor.

“Put that down,” the young man instructed, a little embarrassed himself.

At the sound of the dignitary's voice, Hanatarou straightened, droplets of sweat dotting the skin of his forehead. Left without another recourse until the tea was ready to be served, he sat down on the edge of the sofa across from Ishida's chair. His knees were shaking.

When at last he was finished mending the coat, pleased that the stitching was now even less visible than originally, Ishida returned his gaze to his guest and commanded him to stand up. Carefully fitting him in the jacket, the young man smoothed down the arms and back as though he were handling an expensive suit. His hand briefly lingered on Hanatarou's back before moving away.

“There. Much better, ne?” His expression was unreadable as he adjusted his spectacles.

Hanatarou looked down at the floor as he nodded, a blush coloring his cheeks a bright pink. He seemed unsure of how to properly thank the dignitary for his kindness, but he was no longer trembling and his discomfort seemed to have subsided, which Ishida considered to be thanks enough.

As the two had tea together, Hanatarou listened eagerly as Ishida told him of the travels his wealthy parents allowed him to embark on and the freedom he possessed. When Ishida mentioned that he was going to America to attend a university there, Hanatarou gasped in amazement; he could never imagine being allowed to go to school, let alone college. He confessed that he'd been born and raised a servant and had no hopes of ever being otherwise, although there was no doubt in his mind that his mistress, the Lady Unohana Retsu, had a good heart.

By the end of the sitting, Hanatarou had visibly loosened up, promising, among other things, to return the next day to clean Ishida's cabin for him. Ishida, embarrassed, had quickly told the boy not to do so, that he could easily take care of his cabin alone, but the boy would not take no for an answer, and by the time Hanatarou had scuttled out the door, exclaiming that his mistress was probably beginning to wonder where he was, Ishida had not been able to talk him out of it.

_Well_ , Ishida sighed as he closed the door and adjusted his glasses,  _at least this gives me something to occupy myself with tomorrow_ .

 

~~~

 

**Day 4 of 7**

 

Hanatarou had not explained how he had managed to obtain leave from his duties for almost an entire day, and Ishida had not asked. The boy had shown up promptly at 9:00 AM with his broomstick in one hand and a bucket of water in the other, and immediately set about scrubbing the entire cabin until it gleamed, no matter how hard Ishida tried to deter him. Ishida eventually relented and returned to his sewing projects. He found that his productivity increased now that he was no longer alone in the room, and by lunchtime, he had not only finished the brocade vest his aunt had commissioned him to make but also knitted an emerald green scarf for Hanatarou, which he lovingly wrapped about the boy's neck.

As the two supped on a lunch of sandwiches, herring and scones, they spoke of private dreams and secret philosophies. Ishida never expected to have so much in common with a lowly servant boy, but by this point, it no longer mattered. He admired the boy's bright-eyed innocence and enjoyed being taken seriously for a change. The power of companionship was changing him in subtle ways that even he did not fully comprehend. Hanatarou, for his part, found himself laughing a lot as the dignitary lavished him in attention, something he had heretofore received precious little of.

One thing did disturb Ishida: at one point in their conversation, Hanatarou admitted that he had never been taught to read or write. As the day descended into afternoon, Ishida made it his mission to familiarize the boy with the art of literature. Sitting beside one another on the sofa, Ishida read aloud poetry and short stories, and he was in the process of reading a novel when Hanatarou suddenly informed him that it was time for him to leave.

Ishida's heart lingered in apprehension until Hanatarou promised that he would return the next day. When the boy had disappeared down the corridor and Ishida closed the door, he found himself experiencing something highly unusual: he was _smiling_.

 

~~~

 

**Day 5 of 7**

**5:53 PM**

 

“Uwwaaaaeeeeeeeeooooooooohh...” Ishida could not help groaning as the ship violently lurched to starboard once again.

_Of all the days for a storm ..._ He felt so nauseated, he even had difficulty keeping his thoughts coherent.  _... why couldn't it wait until we reached land ..._

Cracking open his eyes a tad and peering about the bedroom, his eyes sought out Hanatarou and would not rest until they had found him. As unsteady upon his feet as the boy himself may be, he had curiously been transformed into Ishida's anchor during the inclement weather that had turned the ocean into a churning cauldron that was tossing the ship about like a toy trinket. Since Ishida was rather prone to seasickness, today's leg of the journey had not exactly been a joy ride.

When Ishida's gaze acknowledged Hanatarou, the boy came forward and placed a cup at the dignitary's lips. “It'll really help this time, I promise ...”

The devoted servant had come upon his older friend early that morning. Even then, when the storm had not yet hit in full force, Ishida had been unable to rise from the bed. As his self-appointed nurse, Hanatarou had, among other things, already traveled to the infirmary six times that day to ask for cures for seasickness. He had just returned from his seventh trip upstairs and was eagerly reassuring his friend that this time, the medicine was sure to take effect.

Ishida was doubtful, but, after adjusting his glasses, he decided to brave it, and chugged down the viscous substance in one gulp. He then sat back to wait for the results while watching Hanatarou wash the dishes through the open doorway. The devotion with which he went about his work was endearing, and his mind could not erase the memories of the way the boy had blushed so charmingly each time he had thanked him for his care.

An hour later, he was indeed feeling slightly better. At any rate, his head was clearing, and his stomach was no longer screaming in agony, which was certainly an improvement. He called the boy to him to extend his thanks once again.

Hanatarou was still blushing; that could not seem to be helped. His face visibly brightened when Ishida admitted that he was truly feeling better this time.

“Annou~ Ishida-sama,” he asked sheepishly, “can we continue reading, then?”

Ishida pushed back up his glasses as he sat up. “Err. Sorry, but I don't quite think I can get out of bed to get the book yet.”

“No worries!” Hanatarou beamed as he disappeared momentarily to the parlor to retrieve the novel.

When he returned to the bedroom, he hopped up on the bed and slid down next to Ishida, propping up the book so that all that was left for the dignitary to do was to read the contents of the page.

Ishida smiled at the cute gesture, and this did not go unnoticed. Hanatarou, who saw Ishida smiling for the first time from the corner of his eye, grinned, turned and planted a quick, soft kiss on the other's cheek before returning his attention to the book.

Ishida froze, then blinked. _... Well. This was ... awkward ..._

But not really. Though he was not yet sure what exactly it all meant, he realized he had been charmed by this boy since the instant they'd met. He had no idea what the future might have in store for them, but, slipping an arm around the boy and leaning his head on Hanatarou's while facing toward the open book, he knew he did not mind finding out.

Clearing his throat and adjusting his spectacles, he began to read, “Once upon a time...”

 

~~~


End file.
